


big baby

by goodkid



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Genre: Crying, Daddy Issues, Drug Abuse, M/M, Other, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodkid/pseuds/goodkid
Summary: some are saying wonka cries like a baby when he’s getting fucked, too. that’s not true, wonka thinks to himself when he first hears talk of the rumor in the wild. it’s not every time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this after me and some friends watched the 2005 charlie and the chocolate factory movie-- a trash fire of a film, an absolute disaster-- this halloween and realized how fucked up willy wonka is like, emotionally, and my kinky ass had to take it to the next level.

they have to be big. they have to be demanding, and dignified, and middle aged, too. high class, professional. but most importantly, they have to be big. or else he can’t get off. 

wonka goes out in a rough disguise some nights to find a man to take home. nights when the loneliness stops just being  _ ‘weird’ _ and starts to really hurt. nights when he thinks he might just let himself know  _ why _ it hurts. nights when the ambien doesn’t put him to sleep and the candy doesn’t distract him. on those nights he takes off his hat and puts on those huge, round sunglasses even though it’s dark out and he can barely see. he thinks he is less recognizable this way, but is there any point in hiding his identity? he’s going to bring whoever he meets back to the chocolate factory anyway. the disguise is more for wonka’s arbitrary comfort than it is for any real, practical concern for privacy.

word is spreading around town about this habit of his, though, and there really isn’t much wonka can do to stop it. the rumor that willy wonka picks up men and brings them to his factory late at night to have sex. some are saying wonka cries like a baby when he’s getting fucked, too. that’s not true, wonka thinks to himself when he first hears talk of the rumor in the wild. it’s not every time. it’s only when he starts to have a flashback. sometimes they say something that his father used to say to him, or slap him like his father used to when he asks them to please, please hit me. the flashback starts like an inescapable ripple effect and by the time he is completely back to reality, his face is wet with tears and his body is slick with come. 

the men wonka picks up are faceless to him and he forgets their names the second they leave. what matters is the aura. that’s what wonka calls it. he makes his way through bars and clubs like a dandy little autumn breeze, looking for just the right one. he goes to high class spots to find professional men. he likes the divorcees, the single father types. and he can always tell, with 100% accuracy, when a man is a doctor. that’s one of his special talents. 

they have to be mean. they have to give off the impression that they are sorely disappointed in wonka before wonka himself even knows what he’s done. they have to treat wonka like they are absolutely willing to punish him for his mistakes. but most importantly, they have to be big. they have to tower over wonka, make him feel tiny. they have to be powerful, with strong arms and thick torsos. wide necks. large, skilled hands that make wonka’s look like a little boy’s by comparison. if he’s not big and powerful in this way, wonka can’t get off. 

with all of these specifications, there are very few men for wonka to choose from. it’s rare that wonka even goes out on one of these hunts, but even so most times he just ends up shuffling home all by himself. maybe those nights are better. no feelings to confront and a terrific excuse to pop a few xanax and enjoy the emptiness of his brain for a while. from the moment he propositions that perfect candidate he starts to get nervous. sometimes, when they aren’t looking, wonka will slide a gloved hand into his coat pocket and carefully place a few bitter bars underneath his tongue. sometimes he thinks too hard about it and takes too much, and he blacks out. 

wonka leads the other man, arm in arm, back to the chocolate factory. most of these men are too dignified to be impressed by who it is they are going home with, but very occasionally one will get excited. this is a turnoff for wonka. by this time, though, his head is beginning to swim, and he just wants to get fucked. after telling his partner for the night to ‘throw his coat anywhere’ and once he has led him up to the plush bedroom, wonka asks if he would mind looking at his teeth. 

sometimes they laugh, sometimes they are concerned, and sometimes they’re into it. they never deny wonka this request, though. wonka lies down shakily against the pillows and opens wide for the strange man. he even has dental tools for this purpose. little silver utensils to make it real. the man will lean over wonka and bring his face so close to wonka’s that he can feel the warm breath on his cheek. this is when he starts to sweat. he keeps his eyes trained on the candy ceiling, letting the tension build. he breathes slowly through his nose as his partner plays dentist, poking his gums with a hook and examining his bicuspids with the little dental mirror. wonka’s mouth gets drier and drier until he is so worked up he can’t stand it anymore. he will suddenly snap, “kiss me,” and they always do. 

having a heavy, surly man on top of him cuts wonka to his raw core. maybe it’s all he ever wanted. maybe the man’s belt buckle will graze wonka’s stomach. maybe fingers that started off gently raking his hair get rougher. the combination of these sensations makes wonka whine. he feels needy. but he feels taken care of. 

“please, fuck me,” is what wonka always says during this phase of the encounter. he always says please. he makes himself use very good manners. sometimes, he breathlessly adds, “make it hurt.”

any position is okay with wonka as long as he is not in control. as long as the other man is in complete control he will get off. he doesn’t even care if they use protection. he doesn’t even ask. maybe wonka likes that risk, that illusion of trust he can give to a stranger. 

sometimes wonka wonders what the worst thing that could happen on one of these nights is. sometimes he imagines being hurt for real, being really taken advantage of by someone who won’t listen when wonka tells him stop, and he gets excited. 

when that faceless man starts to push his cock into wonka, he makes himself stay perfectly still. wonka waits for him to move. he tries to feel whatever muscles the other man is using to fuck him like this. he screws his mouth shut and his eyes closed and waits. he tells himself he needs this. he tells himself that if he can be a good boy and make this man he will never see again feel better, let him take out all of his rage and frustration on this sinewy little body, it will be like a redemption for him. that it will make up for never being able to make his own father happy. he likes making these men feel good. he likes to be used in this way. it almost makes him feel better. 

wonka does the best he can to be a perfect little toy for the bigger men he invites into his bedroom. a perfect little angel, a little doll. he asks for it rough, and he lets them flip him onto his stomach with no warning. he lets them force his face into the mattress, the feeling of those powerful arms holding him down, making him feel so trapped. he lets them pull his hair even though sometimes the feeling makes him black out. he lets them slap his ass and legs and face and hurt him. he likes it. it’s the only way he can come. 

these stern, fatherly men are his type for a reason. sometimes in the heat of the moment, they will say to wonka, “you can do better than that” or “you know better,” or some other variation of the same. and if there is any truth to the rumor that wonka cries during sex, here is where it comes from. the tears start to sting in his eyes and the words go straight to his dick. the wave of helplessness that comes with a flashback (or maybe with an orgasm) begins to wash over him. he hears his father telling him how disappointed he is in him, clear as a bell just like he was nine years old again. through the thick curtain of memory, he vaguely hears himself moan in a voice so broken he sounds to himself like he is sobbing, and when he snaps out of the haze his stomach is slimy with come. the tear tracks along his cheeks are drying. he feels like he is out of his mind, but he is satisfied for the moment. he looks to find whatever burly, refined man he brought to his home that night next to him. maybe sleeping. maybe smoking. maybe getting up to leave. it doesn’t matter; wonka is starting to come down. he always makes sure, though, to get a last good look at his body. 

they have to be big, wonka thinks to himself. they have to be big. they have to be big or else he can’t get off.

**Author's Note:**

> i love ao3 because i finally have a place to post all these fucked up things i write instead of forcing my friends to read them


End file.
